


Now it's my turn

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Pining, Psychotherapy, Smut, Some Humor, Some Plot, Top John Watson, alternate healing methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 16:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: John Watson finally takes Sherlock to bed.....but can he keep the free-spirited sleuth there





	Now it's my turn

John Watson knew that in a perfect world one always got what they wanted/who they wanted, if they just worked hard and never gave up. But the world was not perfect and the ‘who’ he wanted was one of the biggest eccentrics in it.

 

_William Sherlock Scott Holmes._

 

The genius detective who solved complex murders and unfurled elaborate espionage plots with the same ease and finesse with which he conducted chemistry experiments and played dark but beautiful tunes on his violin. Yet, the brilliant and beautiful man was awkward at best when it came to feelings, lacked all forms of social graces and sometimes acted so out of it that even the neighbor’s dog began to howl out of fear. To call him a high-functioning sociopath was one thing, to live with such a specimen was simply turbulent. John often fell flat on his face due to that kind of turbulence but every single time he forgave Sherlock, simply because he really liked the man and was forever horny around him.

 

Oh what would he not give to get a night of passion with his housemate and partner at solving crimes!!!

 

But as luck would have it, after Sherlock had solved six cases back to back in the course of a month and gained name, fame, respect and rewards for it (an English earl gave him the promised 10% of the 10 million pounds Sherlock had helped him recover from his thieving fiancée). But money never made the man happy nor did respect or other people’s validation ever mean two hoots to him. As the active period was followed by a rather empty phase of almost two weeks, no crime, no case, no action, Sherlock started acting like a true lunatic.

 

“John,” Mycroft called him one morning, “What is Sherlock doing, digging up my backyard? He is saying he’s looking for clues as to where I have hidden daddy’s magnifying glass. I told him it was lost and…..wait, he doesn’t have cases, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Then keep him in 221B.”

 

“Really? Do you think even you can do that?”

 

“Look, I have a very important diplomatic visit coming up. I can’t be pulled into this right now.”

 

“Mycroft, yesterday he turned Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen upside down when she merely mentioned her fine china plate might have been broken by one of her woman friends. I think it’s withdrawal symptoms…..work-related.”

 

“And if he doesn’t get work soon then…..”

 

“……He will turn to drugs!!!”

 

“Precisely! Should we…..um….let Sherlock take….. _his help_? I know you don’t like this but……”

 

“Take his name if you please,” John rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe you are really suggesting this. Do you think it’s a wise idea to invite a shark to take care of a salmon? Take James Moriarty’s help? Isn’t it enough that Sherlock keeps him at bay, barely so, and managed to convince him not to play foul in England or get into your path? Now you want them to reconnect and play that horrible ‘cops and thieves’ game again? No way. You know you can’t trust Moriarty. Remember what happened to Eurus? She fell for him too, badly so, and even now she thinks he will be a Christmas present for her next year.”

 

“Sherlock won’t like it that you called him a salmon.”

 

“Besides the point.”

 

“Agree,” Mycroft cleared his throat, “But it’s not besides the point that you want Sherlock to yourself and you’re jealous of Jim.”

 

“Rubbish.”

 

“Then why do you go for therapy every time Sherlock speaks with him or texts him or meets him?”

 

“Okay, so I am. I am jealous. I like Sherlock. I also know what Moriarty is. So no, I won’t let the two meet, if I can help it. And neither should you encourage that Mycroft….or else I will-I will….”

 

“You will what?”

 

John sighed. He didn’t want to do this but desperate times required desperate measures and this was a moment of desperation for him. For a whole year he had been fighting a cold war with Moriarty over Sherlock. He knew his friend often visited or contacted the mastermind and they didn’t always talk crimes or play games. There were other motived behind those hookups. “Or else I will let your mummy know that you actually stole the magnifying glass and broke it, then buried it in their backyard so no one would suspect you. You didn’t want your grandpa’s magnifying glass, a family heirloom, to pass on to the younger kid.”

 

“Fine, no Moriarty. But then…..”

 

John suppressed a grin. So his wild theory was partially right. Mycroft had stolen, broken and buried the magnifying glass Sherlock so wanted to inherit! Gosh, these Holmes siblings were nutters, each more than the other. “Then what Mycroft?” John asked with arrogance.

 

“Let’s consider equipping you with enough knowledge and support to help my brother at home. I shall involve Dr. Louise Mortimer, yeah she is in London now, and I’ll convince Sherlock to accept this arrangement without protests.”

 

“How do you plan to do that?”

 

***

 

John was not easily impressed. After years of living with Sherlock knew had seen enough miracles from the man and naturally that had raised the bar in his eyes. But even he was pretty awed that day. There was a good reason why Mycroft Holmes was so successful, powerful and well-connected at a relatively young age. He was a very clever man, manipulative in a way that never made him look so and able to solve problems like a pro. As he sat there, listening to Mycroft talk to Sherlock and convince him to play by his plan, he couldn’t help but get awed by the way the elder sibling handled the situation. Even Dr. Louise Mortimer, present in the same room, nodded approvingly every time Mycroft made a point.

 

“I might have several international conspiracy theories to decode and probable suspects of international terrorism to dig out,” the elder Holmes sibling said in his cool, unruffled voice, “But to get you those cases, I’ve to prove to my seniors you are not just capable but….stable.”

 

Sherlock was almost salivating at the prospect of handling bigger challenges, powerful enemies, hard to track criminals and preventing massive heists and multiple assassinations. John watched him and observed that at this point Sherlock would stand on his head if Mycroft asked him to. “Stability does not come from solving cases one after the other but acting in a manner that does not reflect ADHD, anti-social behavior, breaking minor laws and throwing pets out of a bus. You are a famous man now, here as well as outside England. Therefore, you need to rein in your……activities and impatience and…..only then can I assure you those cases.”

 

When Sherlock didn’t look totally sure, Mycroft added, “If you agree to my way, you will see that magnifying glass again.”

 

“Done,” Sherlock was overjoyed.

 

John raised his brows. That little item was so precious to Sherlock?!? Aside from his ‘talking companion skull’ and perhaps his violin, Sherlock had never been so attached to any of his possessions.

 

“So per this program, which I call buddy counseling program,” Louise Mortimer began, “I shall see you once a week but your house mate, a good friend, a colleague, will spend a couple of hours each day with you, working on your issues and help you overcome them.”

 

“Done,” Sherlock was texting away, eyes on the screen of his phone.

 

“I will train Dr. Watson to help you.”

 

“Done.”

 

“Per this new methodology of treating patients with disorders and trauma, you and Dr. Watson need to spend at least two hours a day together. During this time he will help you do yoga, meditation, apply relaxing techniques to calm you down, have meaningful conversations with you and you can use him as a punching bag if things get too rough. He will be part of your therapy and counseling sessions and accompany you wherever you go, note your progress or relapse and it is he who will report them to me. Sort of like a sober companion, but this is a much more complex and difficult job because he has to keep you off many behaviors, not just an addiction.”

 

“Done.”

 

Louise Mortimer raised her eyebrows, “Sherlock I need you to exit through the window.”

 

“Done.”

 

“SHERLOCK,” John said firmly, loudly, forcefully.

 

Sherlock stopped texting and looked at them with a goofy grin. “Jim says…..oh sorry, I wasn’t listening at the end. But whatever it is, I agree.”

 

“Done,” Mycroft said, then, as he realized how it sounded and how three pairs of eyes had turned towards him, he toned it down with, “Good luck all three of you.”

 

***

 

“Do I have to do this?” Sherlock looked at John imploringly.

 

“Oh most definitely,” John said, trying not to grin out of joy. No Moriarty for a month! Wow!

 

Sherlock sighed, pouted, gazed at John again but when the doctor seemed least likely to yield he slowly picked up his phone and began to text his former nemesis turned ‘friend’. He texted, deleted, texted again, deleted yet again, shook his head and nodded his head alternately, taking a huge time to compose a simple message. After five long minutes he was finally ready to show the text to John and held the phone up before the doctor’s eyes. _‘Under therapy and rehab for a month, new technique, can’t be with you, can’t contact you, John is my buddy therapist, do not kill my shrink or hurt John, refuse Mycroft if he asks again – SH’_

 

“Send it,” John ordered.

 

Sherlock pressed ‘send’. They waited for several minutes, the message seemed to have reached the number it was intended for and the recipient had even read it, but no response came, annoying Sherlock but delighting John. _Take that, Moriarty._

 

“Now,” John said with a feral smile which had ‘I have you in my power now’ written all over it, “Let’s start some relaxation techniques.”

 

***

 

Sherlock’s soft, needy, whiny moans were like music to John’s ears and the tiny squirms and tremors in his body felt like the most exquisite thing ever. John bore down harder on him, keen to feel Sherlock’s responses before he even saw or heard them, and was rewarded with rumbling groans in his chest, squeaky yelps in his throat and the rasp of sheets that were being humped by his raging erection. John continued to push himself further inside the velvety heat of his lover till he was so deep-seated he felt even his balls might go in any moment. “I-I thought you-you said I’ll get a relaxing….ohhhhh, massage!”

 

“How did that feel?” John asked and when Sherlock moaned appreciatively he added, “That is called a deep-tissue massage!”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth most definitely to say something but ended up letting out a rather unmanly cry. He thrashed under Jon like a man whose loins were literally on fire and desperately rubbed his cock on the sheets he was lying on. “This is called, massaging the right deep tissue,” John smirked when he felt a trickle of pre-cum spill out of Sherlock’s cock the moment he hit the younger man’s prostate with his shaft. Sherlock groaned deep in his throat, beyond words and sarcasm and smart-mouthing by now, reduced to a helpless state of shudders and moans and some silent begging with his mesmerizing green eyes.

 

John had waited so long for this that he couldn’t believe his eyes or other senses. Sherlock was at his mercy, finally, he was buried balls deep in the gorgeous detective, it was he who owned Sherlock Holmes.

 

A surge of power and adrenalin coursed through him and he started sawing in and out of Sherlock at a steady pace, digging even deeper into the sheath and letting Sherlock feel his entire body move. Soon, Sherlock began to mirror his movements and move along with him.

 

“Yeaaaah,” John spoke with evident satisfaction, “This is called ‘mirroring’ the buddy. Just what Dr. Mortimer taught us to do.”

 

“Uhnnnnn!”

 

John continued, edging Sherlock in a manner that kept the detective aroused yet frustrated, desirous of an orgasm and yet unwilling to let this end too soon. Sherlock pushed back on him, eager for more, enticing him by canting his hips and adding more friction to their blissful rubbing of flesh against flesh, but John held his ground valiantly for nearly twenty minutes and refused to let Sherlock or himself climax.

 

Finally when he did, the intensity of their joint orgasm nearly blew off their minds. Sherlock’s screams added a sort of symphony to John’s quieter but by no means less-intense grunts, their bodies shuddered in much the same way as the rapturous climax tore through them and by the time they came down from the high neither man was able to move even a muscle.

 

***

 

After the first week, John submitted one progress report to Louise Mortimer and kept a second, more private one for himself. He had diligently noted down all his observations there. His therapy hours had increased from two to three per day. Sex between them had increased to two rounds per day instead of one. Sherlock had started to agree for a cuddle after they were done and not roll over and fall asleep like the first couple of days. But most importantly, Sherlock was really beginning to calm down and act more maturely around most day to day irritants.

 

Like when a child on a young woman’s lap stuck his sticky-pop right into the detective’s dense curls. “So sorry, oh, aren’t you Detective Holmes,” the young mom exclaimed. “Yes I am and it’s okay, just be careful in crowded places because not many might like it,” Sherlock replied.

 

John felt rather proud of that adult-like behavior. Only a week ago Sherlock would have blown a fuse or thrown his toys out of the pram in anger. It would have ended with a public scene, the young mom either crying or cursing, the baby and the Sherlock outdoing each other with the hissy fits. The next day Mrs. Hudson tentatively asked if she could mend the bookcase which the detective had partially broken and was pleasantly shocked when Sherlock not only agreed but assisted her in doing so.

 

“It’s working,” John said to Dr. Mortimer over the phone one day.

 

“John, you did lie to me when we met at Dartmoor?” She asked unexpectedly.

 

“On what?”

 

“You said you are not gay. He is only a house mate.”

 

“I…ehm…he is a housemate….too.”

 

“Admit it John, you care about him like a spouse.”

 

John had just started to answer her when the door to 221B opened and in walked a very shiny, well-groomed and sneaky-looking Jim Moriarty. “Speaking of spouses,” John scowled when he saw Sherlock leap up from his chair and let Jim sit on it, “The mistress is here. Gotta go.”

 

Jim ignored John’s presence and started flirting with Sherlock right away. “I just came to see you sexy,” he spoke in that sing-song voice which annoyed John much, “You haven’t got an itch you want me to scratch Sherrrrrly?”

 

“I actually um……” Sherlock began and started hesitating.

 

John resisted an eyeroll. There was Sherlock, always determined and brave, always sure of what he wanted to do even during the most intricate and trickiest of cases, behaving like a man torn between his wife and mother. At best he hopped from foot to foot, at worst he stuttered like he was doing right now. But John had the leverage this time and decided to use it. “Mr. Moriarty, Sherlock has informed you already that he is under treatment for some psychological …. problems and he needs to complete that. It is not advisable that you breeze in here and distract him just as he has started to make some progress.” He paused and added with dramatic flair, “With my help.”

 

Jim looked at John as if he was studying an insect trapped in a glass. Then he turned towards Sherlock, “What is Johnny boy saying? You need help? _YOU_?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said in a small voice, “I think…..”

 

John gave him a cross look.

 

“I mean, I know I need help,” Sherlock corrected himself.

 

“So then….?”

 

“I really do need to focus on this treatment Jim. It’s for my benefit and yours too. If I lose my mind, _and I understand it’s my mind which you really respect and adore_ , then I won’t be of any interest to you. I have promised Mycroft that I shall take this therapy seriously and I intend to keep my promise this time. You’ll have to understand.”

 

“Oh,” it was Jim’s turn to scowl.

 

John grinned behind his newspaper.

 

“I really meant it when I texted you.”

 

“Hmmmffff.”

 

Jim got up and walked towards the door, looking disgusted and muttering under his breath. Sherlock called out to him, “Jim, if Mycroft asks please tell him no.”

 

“Fuck you very much.”

 

Jim was gone thereafter but John couldn’t resist asking Sherlock what he meant by saying ‘no’ to Mycroft. He remembered Sherlock having included that line in his text too. “Oh that,” Sherlock said with a sense of unease, “Mycroft apparently wants to sleep with Jim. I am not really okay with that because you know……who likes to hear about his brother’s sex life? It’s best if that angle doesn’t develop.”

 

Though John was not entirely sure of Sherlock’s reasons, he let it pass. Things were working out for him. He had Sherlock. Moriarty did not.

 

***

 

“Areyousurethiswillhelpmeconcentrate?” Sherlock asked breathlessly as he braced himself against the glass pane of the window overlooking the parking lot of the resort they had visited. His body pitched forward slightly with every thrust John made inside him and small grunts and groans escaped him as he was fucked in the bathroom right next to the reception, John pillaging him as they fucked with their clothes on, trousers and briefs down to their ankles. It was especially thrilling for John because anyone passing by the parking lot could easily see Sherlock’s face and expressions and deduce what was going on in there.

 

“Yes, of course,” John insisted between groans of pleasure. Gosh, Sherlock was so tight and hot. “You can see so many things and you are tempted to deduce something or the other about each,” he went on, “Yet I am sure the only thing you’re thinking about is how you’re being screwed and how soon you’re going to cum really hard. I bet your brain cells are just focusing on the moment, right?”

 

“Right you aaaaaaarrre,” Sherlock’s ragged, breathless words ended in a near scream as John’s hand wrapped around his manhood and started a steady wank, slippery with lube, fast and firm strokes that made his head spin. He let his eyes close and his head fall back, oh bliss, it was a nice time he was having with John. Who knew sex could be so much fun? He would have shed off the false skin of ‘asexuality’ he had been wearing like a defense mechanism so far and thrown himself into the fun ride of conjugal life with a sensuous, virile and eager partner like John. And he did love the size of the doctor’s dick, it was huge!

 

A few more pumps of the same dick and the hard hand and Sherlock’s spunk shot out like water from a jet spray, hitting the tiled wall of the bathroom in four places.

 

Moments later John groaned and shuddered, then warmth flooded Sherlock’s channel.

 

After a whole minute of sighs, pants and occasional complete silence, Sherlock noticed two things. He was still hard and John was still hard. Sneakily he pushed back and moved back and forth, fucking himself on John’s cock which was still swollen inside him.

 

“Ohh…aaaah!”

 

The impish grin on Sherlock’s lips widened. “Gimme some more,” he said in the grating, needy voice he knew turned John on, “You’re not an old man. You couldn’t be done with just one round, yeah?”

 

“Fuck, I unleashed some demon eh?” John began to move in and out of him again and started to stroke his half-hard cock once more, “From asexual to this!”

 

Sherlock wanted to say something like ‘I don’t think I was really asexual’ or ‘I am more of a sapiosexual’ or ‘Maybe I was abstaining because I didn’t know how good it was with the right cock….no, partner’, but he was once again forced to concentrate on the feeling of John’s pulsating erection drilling him so deep he could feel it almost coax past his second sphincter and slide even further in. When that really happened and Sherlock had a near spontaneous hands-free orgasm, he did agree silently that Dr. Mortimer’s therapy and John’s weird adaptation of it was indeed effective. It had been three weeks and he had not felt overwhelmed of underwhelmed by his work, by people or any other irritants like boredom.

 

***

 

“What does this kind of therapy do for me? What is this really called? How did you decide what was a good deviation and which one wasn’t?”

 

Sherlock’s innocent, child-like questioning delighted John. In fact everything Sherlock said and did in the past four weeks delighted John.

 

What bliss, he thought as he massaged Sherlock’s long legs and then started to focus on the balls of his feet and his toes. Sherlock’s nude body, his visible arousal (John noted how his cock rested against his stomach, erect and pretty with a shiny tip) and the soft sounds of pleasure he made were reward enough for him and he didn’t mind indulging Sherlock with anything, as long as he owned the man’s free time and delicious body. “This is superficial massage,” he said in a serious tone, “But there is a good reason to do this. You were a good boy and meditated for ten full minutes today. So this is your reward, a full body massage and a special foot massage. Stimulates the circulation of blood, relaxes and loosens the muscles, helps you unwind and throw out all negative thoughts.”

 

“It’s….mmmmm……working.”

 

“Good. I am glad.”

“Nhhhho…..this really works.”

 

“I know, I know. It worked even better than Dr. Mortimer had predicted.”

 

He neglected to add that he had mostly changed her methodologies and made this all about doting on Sherlock, keeping him aroused or relaxed or satisfied or breathless in afterglow. Usually people whose fires had been banked a long time experienced this bliss, especially when they underwent a total change from their previous lifestyle. Sex the most natural way of giving someone an adrenalin rush, keeping them wanting more and making them fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

 

I always knew there was this needy beast inside you Sherlock, and now I am going to feed it just enough to keep it going at this pace but just a little less than the upper limit so it doesn’t go completely berserk or bored.

 

***

 

The day of reckoning arrived and Dr. Louise Mortimer was very pleased indeed. “I have observed marked changes in your behavior Sherlock, you are so much more patient and kinder than you used to be,” she said, giving her verdict, “You are able to focus on something and not constantly distracted. You have clearly been eating and sleeping better. People around you have told me there were no reports of violence or eccentric behavior. I must congratulate you and your buddy therapist for this tremendous progress. This was an experimental methodology but I am delighted it worked so well.”

 

John grinned like a Cheshire cat.

 

Sherlock sat on a chair between them, silent but looking radiant, healthy and happy. His hollow cheeks had filled slightly, his under-eye bags had disappeared, he had an overall look of positivity and happiness about him. “I even got three cases from Mycroft,” the detective beamed like a child who had just landed a bag of toys and candy, “And he admitted he stole the magnifying glass daddy owned. Mummy yelled at him, which was a big reward for me. She always thought ‘Mikey’ could do no wrong and I have proved things otherwise. So, all good. I am good, we are good.”

 

“Fantastic,” Dr. Mortimer said.

 

John excused himself to go to the bathroom and by the time he came out, gloating over his success, he saw Sherlock had already come out of the shrink’s chambers and was standing next to the reception, texting.

 

“Let’s go home, shall we?” John asked, “Louise is busy?”

 

“Yeah, next patient went in just now.”

 

“Shall we?”

 

“Yeah, we shall, let’s go.”

 

Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket and walked out of the clinic with John by his side. “I have a few new ideas for our buddy therapy,” the doctor said excitedly, “I think you may have even better experiences…..I mean it would be even better for you if we tried a few of those methods in a location far away, say….Cotswold?”

 

“But I don’t need that therapy anymore,” Sherlock said, looking absolutely calm and normal.

 

John frowned at that casually dismissive statement. What was this new idea popping up in his Sherlock’s fertile mind? What did he mean he didn’t need the therapy anymore? Sherlock read into the questions running through his mind because he was….well, _Sherlock Holmes_ , and he immediately clarified his lover’s doubts. “Dr. Mortimer told me that it was easier to benefit from this therapy but for long-term gains we must become therapy buddies ourselves, become true experts of this alternate way of healing. Which means, it’s my turn now to help someone with similar psychological issues and erratic behavior. As they say, the best way to become an expert is if you teach someone the subject you’re good at.”

 

John swallowed, “You will…..become someone else’s buddy therapist?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Whose?”

 

The answer didn’t come from Sherlock initially. It came from someone standing behind him and John almost ripped his hairs out of frustration.

 

“Hello Johnny boy!” As Moriarty’s soulless dark eyes glinted with obvious triumph and joy, Sherlock walked over to the criminal mastermind and said, “Jim’s. Don’t worry, I have learned well from you and I’ll use every trick in the trade you used.”

 

John glared at Jim.

 

Jim’s only reaction was a smirk.

 

That was the only time John Watson wished he too was a psychopath and could twist the heads of both geniuses north-south.

**Author's Note:**

> For a change it's Sherlock who is the slut, not Jim. In my mind, Sherlock will come back to John but he can't belong exclusively to anyone, not even John or Jim.


End file.
